


auld lang syne

by pearlilly



Series: seasons [5]
Category: Dynasty (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, New Years, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:00:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22044472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearlilly/pseuds/pearlilly
Summary: in which Fallon and Kirby celebrate New Years.
Relationships: Kirby Anders/Fallon Carrington
Series: seasons [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1512317
Comments: 25
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

_ December 21st _

Fallon awoke a few days before Christmas feeling hungover and dazed, heaving herself out of bed and shuffling to the bathroom to brush her teeth. As she applied a fresh stripe of Tom’s of Maine to her wildly overpriced sonic toothbrush, she leaned in to inspect herself in the polished mirror over her marble vanity. She wasn’t at all surprised to find that she looked at least as bad as she felt. She hadn’t had nearly enough champagne to justify this level of disarray, but the events of the previous night were just starting to fully sink in.

At first, she was certain she’d been dreaming - Kirby couldn’t possibly have kissed her, could she? - but once she’d had a chance to settle; to wash her face and try to force herself into at least a semblance of something presentable, she found herself recognizing the truth of the memories with the same aching feeling in the pit of her stomach that so often accompanied thoughts of Kirby. 

Shaking her head, she returned her toothbrush to its charging stand. She’d feel much better after she had a cup of coffee - or a bellini, whichever presented itself first - and some fresh air. 

As she made her way down the hall, she noted that Kirby’s door was closed, meaning she wasn’t awake yet. She breathed a small sigh of relief, thankful that she would have at least a little more time to herself before she had to face her. Descending the stairs and rounding the corner to the living room, she stopped short, for once truly taken by surprise.

Fallon found the Christmas tree stunningly decorated - it genuinely looked like something out of  _ Southern Living.  _ Kirby had created tableaus on the tree, carefully grouping similar ornaments together: her and Steven’s first Christmas ornaments were side by side; there was a selection of handmade elementary school efforts near the bottom, sturdy enough that Bo wouldn’t break them if he ducked under the tree to sneak a drink of water from the stand; Hallmark keepsake ornaments, Shiny Brites, Alexis’s extensive collection of Christopher Radkos - they all had their own space on the tree, each grouping discrete enough that it was recognizable, yet not so concrete that the tree didn’t feel cohesive. The entire thing was festooned in shimmering gold tinsel that could have easily been tacky, but the effect of the lights against it transformed it into something beautiful. It truly was something to look at. 

Kirby had done a spectacular job, and Fallon wanted to thank her for it, but she just couldn’t seem to get up the nerve to go up and do so. Now that she was fully awake, Fallon was experiencing an odd, unpleasant feeling on top of the ache in her stomach. It wasn’t at all like the excitement she got before a big presentation, or the butterflies she’d felt as she got ready for her first date with Liam. This was something entirely different, and it nearly made her feel ill. It didn’t seem real that Kirby had kissed her barely twelve hours before, but at the same time, her lips still burned every time she so much as thought about it. 

So Kirby had a crush on her. That wasn’t anything new; she’d had a number of suitors over the years; most of them needing to be let down gently - but then why did  _ this _ one feel so different? So much more painful? She  _ didn’t _ feel the same way. Of  _ course _ she didn’t. But she found herself having to repeat that over and over in her head, so many times that the words were starting to sound unbelievable even to her own ears. 

Realizing that she’d been standing by the tree for more than a few minutes, Fallon crossed over to the Steinway baby grand that took up one corner and banged a few vampy minor chords out on the lower keys, the crystals on the chandelier trembling in her wake. Usually doing so made her feel better, at least for a moment - it was cathartic to have a physical manifestation of her inner discord. Today, though, the chords vibrating into the room seemed to have the opposite effect. They hung in the air, making the atmosphere even more stifling than it already was. She rubbed a hand over her face and turned away from the piano, heading out onto the veranda. Air. She just needed air. 

The lacquered wood of the deck was cold under her bare feet as Fallon dragged a weather-beaten Adirondack chair out from under one of the eaves. Winter had finally come to Atlanta. Dusting a few yellowed azalea petals out of the seat, she curled up in it, hugging a knee to her chest. As she sat in the stark morning air, she found herself left alone with her thoughts. Introspection had never been one of her favorite pastimes, and now was no exception. Fallon rested her chin on her knee, shivering slightly as a breeze blew against her thin pajamas that were meager protection in this weather. Sitting out here, with no one to distract her from her own mind, she retreated further into herself, examining her innermost thoughts and not at all liking what she saw. 

Fallon closed her eyes and Kirby immediately flashed to the forefront of her mind: her blazing red hair; her hand holding a dove with mistletoe; her smile; her lips - 

Fallon shook her head hard. She laced her fingers into her hair and pressed her palms against her temples, staring down at the tasteful floral pattern that adorned her knee. She took cool sips of air, trying to settle her heart that was now racing uncomfortably. She’d told Kirby she hadn’t meant to lead her on, but as she thought about it now, that was practically all she’d done. She’d treated the girl almost like a pet, watching her beg and giving her treats when she did as she was told. Fallon had never thought of it as flirting, exactly, just - banter, perhaps? But there’d been so many other moments she couldn’t make sense of - her excitement when she’d surprised Kirby with her giant pumpkin; how her gaze lingered on her hips in her Halloween costume; how she’d held her hand a moment too long as she cared for the cuts Kirby had gotten trying to put out the fire she’d started. 

Fallon always espoused boss bitch vibes; she oozed confidence to the point that it made some people uncomfortable, but no one - not even Culhane or Liam - had managed to get closer than arm’s length. Kirby had done so without her even noticing, and last night’s sudden shift in their dynamic had sent her reeling. But even though she’d felt the warmth between them for quite some time now, she had pushed it away because it wasn’t something she could immediately make sense of. Like she did with everything in her life that didn’t perfectly fit into one of her little boxes. How many good things had she ruined because of that?

Maybe she was just too difficult to love. Maybe that was why she always ended up alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to Sarah for beta reading :)
> 
> I decided to do chapters on this one just to break it up a bit, so there'll be 3 short ones!


	2. Chapter 2

_ December 25th  _

Somehow, despite living in the same house, Fallon didn’t see Kirby again until Christmas morning, when she came down a few minutes before ten bearing a few parcels covered in bright paper. As she pointedly settled herself on the opposite end of the sofa, Fallon gave her a quick once over. She looked as exhausted as Fallon herself felt. Her long red hair was tangled, spilling haphazardly over her shoulders, and her skin looked pale and sallow. 

“Morning,” Fallon tried.

“Morning,” Kirby said tersely. “Merry Christmas, Fallon.” 

Fallon tried to hand her a mug of coffee - two sugars, a hint of hazelnut creamer, just how she knew Kirby liked it - but she waved the mug away, not meeting Fallon’s eyes. She pulled at a loose thread on the knee of her pajama pants, then tipped the little packages she held onto the couch. They were poorly wrapped - all cheap paper and crinkled edges and far too much dollar store tape - but she had clearly made an effort. The old Fallon might’ve mocked her for it, but now, with Kirby so withdrawn, the whole appearance just struck her as being very, very sad. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything, Kirb,” she said gently, reverting back to her childhood nickname without even realizing it. She placed the rejected mug on the coffee table and reached over to touch her knee before she could stop to think about it. 

Kirby jumped, startled at the contact, finally looking up at her with an expression in her eyes that was unmistakably heartbroken. 

“Yes, I did,” she corrected. There was something unreadable in her tone that made Fallon’s shoulders tighten. Kirby reached down to take Fallon’s hand, and Fallon’s heart momentarily leapt at the touch, but Kirby just carefully placed it back in her own lap before letting go. 

They were quiet for a moment, but where the silence between them had previously buzzed with implications, energy - and, Fallon thought, maybe even chemistry? - this silence was flat and unyielding. Fallon had never felt so helpless. Her mind was swimming with all kinds of things she wanted to say to the girl, apologies and affirmations and supplications, but it was like the connection between her brain and her mouth was completely severed. She couldn’t manage to say any of the things she so desperately wanted to - not a single word. Instead, she just gestured mutely at the fireplace until she finally found her voice.

“I, um… I put your stuff in your stocking.”

Kirby nodded. “Thank you.”

She rose and crossed to the fireplace, carefully unhooking the stocking from the modeled ceramic holder that affixed it to the mantel. She held it for a moment, staring unseeingly at the embroidered animals. 

“Kirby?” Fallon asked carefully, after she’d been standing there a beat too long.

Kirby seemed to snap out of her reverie, curling her fingers around her stocking with a bit more purpose. “Sorry. Jet lag.”

“Oh,” Fallon replied, unsure what to make of that. “Don’t you… don’t you want to open your presents?”

Kirby feigned a yawn, one so false that Fallon could spot its inauthenticity more easily than a knockoff Prada bag. “You know, Sydney is sixteen hours ahead of Atlanta during this time of year. It’s a big adjustment. I think I might just go back up to bed and get some more rest. But thank you for the presents, I’ll open them later.” With that, she took the stocking and turned away, retreating up the back stairway by the Christmas tree without so much as a second glance. 

Fallon sat quietly, staring at the parcels beside her and the two mugs of steaming coffee on the table that she knew would go cold and be tipped down the drain in a matter of hours. She hadn’t mentioned to Kirby that she’d lived in Atlanta for over a year and should surely be adjusted to the time difference by now. Even if she wasn’t, the time difference would mean that it was around 2pm in Australia - there was no possible way she’d be tired. She knew that, and she knew Kirby knew she did. Fallon just didn’t have the energy to fight her on it. 

* * *

_ December 27th _

The time after Christmas passed in a strange kaleidoscope for Fallon, the days feeling more like jagged, liminal snapshots on a film reel rather than smooth, continuous motion. She hadn’t been this out of sorts in ages - not since Alexis had left when she was a teenager, and even that wasn’t quite the same thing. She couldn’t bring herself to open Kirby’s presents, knowing that the growing hole in her heart couldn’t possibly take it, so she’d put them on her bedside table. When that arrangement grew too painful, she put them in the cedar chest at the foot of her bed, tucked firmly beneath an antique quilt. She’d open them when she was ready, she promised herself. Definitely before New Years. 

* * *

_ December 29th _

Time continued to tick by, making Fallon feel anxious, as if there were something she was forgetting to do; some commitment she’d forgotten she’d had and would certainly pay for forgetting. She and Kirby hadn’t had their morning coffee and croissants since before the Christmas tree fiasco, and any contact they’d had had been strained and cordial, as if they were boarders renting rooms in the same house and only interacting with one another to be civil. It felt awful. Once she’d realized she wasn’t going to be invited on any business errands in the near future, Kirby had left Fallon’s planner and the pens she used to color code it in a neat stack outside Fallon’s door. Seeing it had raised a strange lump in her throat, but she’d swallowed it back and cancelled each appointment before she stuffed the materials under a Tiffany paperweight on one of her built-ins. No one paid attention to the  _ Atlantix  _ or read her back page, below-the-fold business column, anyway. They’d survive without her until she sorted herself out. She just didn’t know how long that was going to take. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to Sarah for beta reading :)
> 
> One more chapter of this one after this and I promise everything will be okay!


	3. Chapter 3

_ December 31st _

Fallon spent the next few days in a daze, helped along by mimosas that were essentially champagne with just enough juice to turn it orange, and a few of her trusty Valium that she usually reserved for the occasional panic attack she had during a particularly powerful thunderstorm. She usually hated taking them because they made her feel like a zombie, but for once it was nice to not be able to really feel much of anything. At the very least it made it so she could sleep without the threat of dreams.

After a couple of days of moping, she finally roused herself the afternoon of New Year’s Eve. She’d promised herself she would open Kirby’s presents before the new year - she may as well go ahead and get it over with so she could start drinking and be ready for the ball drop. 

She crossed to the cedar chest at the foot of her bed and opened it hesitantly, as if she were expecting a poisonous spider or another equally dangerous creature to spring from its depths, but there were none - just the usual neat stack of folded quilts and blankets, only slightly lumpy in one corner from where she’d shoved Kirby’s presents underneath it. She pulled them out with shaking fingers - thank heavens there were only two - then closed the chest and leaned heavily against it with one little parcel in each hand. One of them bore a sticky note that read ‘open this one first’ in Kirby’s signature untidy scrawl.

After a few minutes of staring at the parcels, very seriously considering just stuffing them back into the depths of her chest and never opening them at all, Fallon couldn’t help but roll her eyes at herself. They were presents, and she’d never been one to turn down a present. She certainly wasn’t going to start now. 

She unwrapped the first gift slowly, not because she was nervous - even though she definitely was - but because the amount of tape Kirby had used made it all the more difficult to get into. Biting back a growl of frustration, Fallon finally adjusted her grip and used the edge of her acrylic thumbnail to slit the tape open. 

A long, narrow white box fell to her lap. Fallon set the empty paper shell aside and picked it up. Lifting the lid, she found a fountain pen tucked inside, nestled into a bed of velvet. It was really a very nice one, carved out of fire opal that gleamed even in the low light of her bedroom. Tasteful gold hardware finished off the pen and the clip had her initials engraved in the order considered to be correct in this part of the country: first, last, middle, with the last initial slightly larger.  _ FCM. _ Her initials stood out on the clip, carefully antiqued just enough to define them without being too showy. 

It was an extremely thoughtful present, one that she could picture herself using day in and day out as she signed paperwork and slashed through edits on her business articles. She had no idea how Kirby had afforded such a nice gift, and it made her even more nervous to open the next one. She carefully tucked the pen back into its box and set it aside, resisting the urge to pat it affectionately. Even if she never managed to mend the rift between her and Kirby, she was definitely keeping the pen. 

Now enticed by the possibilities of the next box, Fallon picked it up and immediately slit the tape with her thumbnail, not bothering to struggle with it like she had the first one. It was smaller than the box that had held the pen, and when Fallon lifted the lid, she was met with yet another sticky note. She had to force herself not to roll her eyes as she read it.

“‘For you,’” she read aloud, “‘if you’re ever ready.’”

Fallon frowned. Ready? Ready for what?

She lifted the sticky note to reveal the contents of the box and her heart immediately lurched into her stomach. There, carefully tucked atop a layer of cotton, was Kirby’s dove ornament, the bright sprig of holly and mistletoe gripped in its beak. The very ornament Kirby had left here when she’d been sent away all those years ago, and the very same one she’d held over Fallon’s head two weeks ago when she’d kissed her more meaningfully than anyone ever had. It hurt to look at it. 

Fallon wanted to drop the ornament like she’d been burned, but instead she just gently placed it on the tea tray, the little dove suddenly feeling very weighty. She swept into the bathroom, taking a long, hot shower and scrubbing her skin aggressively with an expensive loofah until she was glowing pink. As she moisturized and changed into a fresh pair of silk pajamas, she heard a gentle tap against her door. 

Fallon froze, unsure of what to do. It wasn’t a knock - it was like something had bumped against the door. Whoever it was quickly retreated, their footsteps echoing against the marble tile in the hallway as they walked away. 

Fallon waited a few more moments, rubbing in her La Mer hand cream a bit more thoroughly than was strictly necessary. When she figured she’d stalled long enough, she opened her door to find a copy of the  _ Atlanta Journal-Constitution  _ and a tea tray sitting just outside. 

It had to have been Kirby - none of the staff would’ve done something like that. No, it was definitely Kirby. An olive branch.

Fallon practically snatched the tray, dragging it into her bedroom and closing the door behind her. She could smell the Earl Grey steeping inside the little flowered teapot - her favorite - but her stomach was churning so fiercely she couldn’t bring herself to even pour a cup. Fallon missed the redhead’s company, but didn’t have the slightest idea what to do about it. 

She wished Steven was still around. He’d know what to do, she was sure of it, and the truth of that thought ached even more than Kirby’s absence. 

Fallon heaved herself to the floor, setting the tray down beside her. She crossed her legs and tried to ignore how her fingers itched for her Valium bottle. Now that her peace had been disturbed, her mind drifted back to the time she and Kirby had spent together; the kiss; the dove she knew had once been Alicia’s now sitting in her bedroom, and immediately had to force herself to breathe normally. It just didn’t make any sense.  _ Why  _ was she being so uptight about this? Kirby was just a person. It didn’t matter that she had a crush on Fallon, or that she’d given her that gorgeous pen or her stupid ornament. She’d get over it. 

As soon as Fallon thought about Kirby ‘getting over it’, her stomach swooped with disappointment. She didn’t  _ want  _ the girl to get over her, she realized; she didn’t want that at all. Kirby’s ornament wasn’t stupid, either, and she hated herself for allowing herself to think that. It  _ wasn’t _ stupid. It was incredibly sweet. 

She liked Kirby, too, she realized at long last. Perhaps part of her had always known that, but she’d walled it off like she did with any feelings that were too frightening or complex to immediately understand. Once she finally allowed herself to think about it, she didn’t shut down like she’d been so afraid she would. The endless uncomfortable gnawing in the pit of her stomach was replaced with butterflies she hadn’t felt in recent memory. 

Fallon liked Kirby. And the world wasn’t going to end because of that. 

Rising to her feet, a little shaky with anticipation, Fallon grabbed her new fountain pen off of her bed and crossed to her desk. Uncapping the pen and drawing a sheet of her stationery to her, she wrote a simple note:

_‘Truce. We should at least ring in the new year together. Meet me downstairs at 11:55 and we’ll watch the ball drop. Fallon.’_

Capping the pen, she dashed from her room before she could lose her nerve and slipped the note under Kirby’s door. When she came back, she finally allowed herself a cup of tea, then started browsing her closet for something to wear. Midnight wasn’t for hours, but she had to make sure she wouldn’t be underdressed.

* * *

_ December 31st, 11:55pm _

Kirby came out of her room a little hesitantly, drifting down the stairs as though she wasn’t in a big hurry. She hadn’t seen Fallon in days, and she’d been more than a little surprised by the note slipped under her door. She couldn’t help but feel like she’d made a huge mistake by kissing her the other night, but she had to admit that she was eager to see her. Time seemed to pass more slowly and less interestingly when Fallon wasn’t around. 

Kirby stepped off the bottom stair, rounding the corner to the living room where her tree still stood proudly and where Fallon had the ball drop playing on the huge flatscreen. Fallon herself was nowhere to be found. Kirby scoffed. She was late. Typical. 

_ 11:57pm _

Just as Kirby was considering going back upstairs, Fallon appeared with a tray bearing two glasses of champagne. Although it was just her and Kirby for the evening, she’d gotten dressed up in the outfit she’d worn to the Carrington’s 1920s themed party - the night Kirby had heard her sing for the first time, and been so captivated she almost had to excuse herself.

“You’re certainly dressed up,” Kirby remarked, taking one of the glasses of champagne. “Never thought I’d see Fallon Carrington wear the same outfit twice.”

“I’m full of surprises,” Fallon said simply. “And it’s about to be the twenties again, so I felt like this was appropriate.”

Kirby nodded, twirling the stem of her flute and watching the bubbles rise to the surface and pop. “I honestly didn’t even think of that.”

_ 11:59pm _

“Do you have any New Year’s Resolutions?” Fallon asked. The ball had started its minute-long descent on the tv, and Kirby’s eyes strayed to it for a moment before she answered. 

“I hadn’t really thought about it. You?”

Fallon nodded, a softness appearing in her eyes that Kirby didn’t think she’d ever seen before. She set her glass down on the table and crossed to her so she was mere inches away. Behind Fallon, the countdown showed less than twenty seconds. 

Ten.

“Yes. My resolution is to be more honest with myself. Starting....”

Nine. 

“Right.”

Eight.

“Now.” Fallon pulled the little dove out of her pocket, holding it over Kirby’s head and smiling. “Look. Mistletoe.”

Seven. 

Kirby glanced up at the dove and back at Fallon, looking a little perplexed. “...What?”

Six.

“You didn’t misread the moment the other night,” Fallon admitted. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Five.

Using one hand to hold the dove, Fallon wrapped her other arm around Kirby’s waist and pulled her in, finally letting their lips meet. She could feel Kirby’s arms snaking around her; could feel her lips pulling into a smile against hers. She smiled back and deepened the kiss, lowering the dove so she could use both arms to pull Kirby in even further. Behind them she could hear the cheers and noisemakers going off on the tv - it was after midnight. A new year. 

_ January 1st, 12:02am _

When they finally broke apart, Fallon rested her arms on Kirby’s hips to keep her close and gently pressed another kiss to her forehead. Kirby beamed, leaning in to kiss her nose before nuzzling her cheek into Fallon’s shoulder. 

“You really are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Told you I was,” Fallon teased. “Happy New Year, Kirby,” she said softly.

“Happy New Year, Fallon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is. so incredibly cheesy i hate myself


End file.
